Smokescreen rarely wanted for an interface. Between Bluestreak and Prowl he was almost never without a partner, and on the off chance that neither of them was available he’d taken to calling on Jazz or Hound, when he could get the latter away from Mirage that is.
Tonight apparently was the anomaly. Prowl and Bluestreak were working, Jazz was out on assignment, and Mirage had told him point blank that he was going to “Fuck Hound long and hard tonight, so don’t get your hopes up.” Smokescreen would have joined in, but Mirage was clearly feeling jealous and he’d prefer not to lose Hound as an interface buddy.
So he was stuck. Without someone to screw.
Though, really, he hadn’t masurbated in a while. Perhaps a night with the wash racks was in order?
Yes... That sounded very nice. In fact, the more he thought about it, the better sounding it became. Alone, able to take as much time as he wanted? Not having to worry about whether his partner got off? Almost more brilliant than the time he’d thought to replace Bluestreak’s dildo with a modified shock prod.
A shiver made its way over his frame at that thought. That had been a good night.
Prowl’s private washracks opened to his code and he sighed, pulling out a soft cloth and his favorite cleaner from the shelf on the wall. He might as well wash first, then he wouldn’t have to visit the public washracks later.
He clicked on the water and spent a moment getting it to the perfect temperature, then another moment simply enjoying the feel of the water cascading over his frame. The adjustable pressure was dialed to heavy and the thrum of the water against his doorwings felt... fantastic. He hadn’t even realized that the hinges were as sore as they were, but with the hot water beating a tattoo against his plating it was painfully obvious.
Doorwings sagged, more of the wires and area around the joint itself catching the wonderfully hot water. It streamed down the inside of his armor, over kinked cables and protoform and he let out another sigh. This one drawing from deep inside his tanks and releasing tension. The weight of the day dissolving under the glorious thrum against him.
Smokescreen shifted, shuttering his optics and pouring solvent onto the rag. Focusing on the beat of each water droplet as it hit him and dripped down. His hand moving in slow circles, spreading the solvent around. Flaring out his armor and making sure that the cleanser dripped through, dirty water pooling briefly at his pedes before going down the drain. Finally stopping and letting the rag drop, bracing his hands against the wall and just letting the water roll over him. Letting out a groan, not even surprised when he felt heat pool low in his groin.
There was a fraction of a second when he contemplated if it was worth taking the wonderful stream of water off of his back. A chuckle echoing off the tiled walls as Smokescreen shook his armor, reaching up and snagging the detachable shower head. He crouched down, shifting until he had his knees spread wide and pressed against the wall. His free hand turned up the temperature of the water, then stroked down kibble and briefly pressed against his anterior node. He vented as a gentle burst of pleasure broke through him at the contact.
The shower head was dangling from his hand, streams of water hitting his thigh and it was the realization of what was coming next that made his valve clench. He changed the settings, twirling the dial until there was a steady, strong stream of water coming from the center.
He made himself relax, savoring the anticipation that made him tremble. Passing the stream of water over his valve entrance so that it brushed the edge of his anterior node and savoring the pleasure that bloomed outward. He shifted on his pedes and passed it over again. Letting the water stream pass just to the left and right of that node until he was biting his lip. His valve trying to bear down whenever it felt water brush over the rim.
Smokescreen loved the first overload. It primed him for as many more as he could wring from his frame before the hot water ran out. His free hand was braced over his helm on the wall and his chevron was pressed against the cool tile. He watched as the water moved closer, optics tracking the where the stream collided with his plating.
He let the stream finally stay over the anterior node, holding the shower head to the side and letting the water press against it from an angle. Mouth dropping open and helm rolling back as his hips jerked forward. A groan sounding out in the steamy room as Smokescreen gripped the shower head tightly. Holding it in place even as his hips pumped against nothing. Riding the heady pleasure to the cusp of overload before pulling back and letting the water pulse against the housing.
Knees pressed even more firmly against the wall and Smokescreen began to deliberately rock his hips. Holding the shower head so that at the end of the motion the water again passed over the sensitized node. Panting as pleasure came in sharp bursts and deciding that patience wasn’t a virtue he wanted to practice tonight. He let himself rock into the water stream until he choked off a curse and dropped into overload. Keeping the shower head steady and letting the water beat at the node. A smaller overload coming quick on the heels of the first, Smokescreen’s doorwings flaring out and up as his frame trembled with pleasure.
The shower head dangled, limp, in his hand as he vented and Smokescreen’s free hand came down to trace fingertips over his valve rim. Letting them slide through the protective softmetal platelets, lubricant smearing over the metal. He covered them with the purple fluid and brought them up to his face, rubbing them together. Enjoying the feel of the slickness between them, the way it made his fingers slide over one another so easily. His glossa flicked out to clean a fingertip and he rolled the taste around his mouth for a moment. It wasn’t particularly tasty, but Smokescreen enjoyed the action as much as he would if someone was watching.
He sighed softly and lowered the hand to stroke over his valve again. Parting the platelets with his fingers and spreading them wide. It made it easier to fit the shower head between them, snugging the face of it against his valve entrance and letting the water stream inside.
It felt strange, it always did, to have water rushing inside of him. It wasn’t really pleasurable, at least not to Smokescreen, but what came next...
A thread of arousal opened up as the water filled him. Rushing into every available space it could find until there was no room for it to slosh about anymore. Smokescreen pressed the shower head more firmly against his valve opening, groaning as the continuous stream of water became uniform pressure on the silky mesh lining. Pushing it to expand in every direction.
Smokescreen trembled. His pedes slipped a little on the wet floor and he pressed his knees harder into the wall for balance. Both of his hands were between his thighs, one spreading him wide, the other holding the shower head so tightly against his valve that water couldn’t escape. It had nowhere to go but into him.
And it did. Stretching him out to the point where it was twinging pain but he was so full that it hardly even mattered. Panting, shaking as he clenched on nothing. Finally the pressure forcing water back out in thin streams on either side of the shower head, just enough releasing to keep Smokescreen caught in pleasurable limbo.
The glorious stretch within him from something that had no surface, no real mass.
The water pressed against all of the sensor nodes within him. The pressure activating them and keeping them activated as it moved in a loop from the handheld to the back of his valve, then forcing it’s way back out.
Lasting seconds? Moments? Until finally overload came and his hand spasmed, dropping the shower head and bracing against the wall, the water rushing out of him in a purple tinged gush.
There was a moment when he wasn’t sure his hydraulics would keep him upright, with the room spinning as it was, and Smokescreen’s gyros struggled to orient him. He vented heavily against his hand, the one that had spread him open dangling limply between his thighs. Waiting until he could crouch without feeling off balance before snagging the shower head up again.
His optics were shuttered in pleasure at the tingle that rippled through him. His sensor nodes were slightly swollen, primed from sensation. Lubricant dripped, tiny drops coloring the water on the washrack floor before they were swept down the drain. Smokescreen sighed and let his fingers play against the platelets. Darts of electricity passed between his digits and the slick metal, dots of blue sparking wherever he touched.
The steam inside the washracks was thick. Smokescreen’s vents heaved as they tried to bring in enough air to cool his systems, his jaw hanging limp on its hinges. His optics were dim, and he shuddered as more charge crackled through his neural net.
Electric impulses fired, but his hydraulics refused to cooperate. It was all Smokescreen could do to turn himself around and slide to the floor, venting heat intense enough to distort the air and turn the water that passed them to steam. The shower head dangling on its hose, shooting water against the wall until he raised a hand above his helm and slapped at the controls.
“And here I got off work early for you.”
Smokescreen’s helm shot up to see a smirking Bluestreak standing in the doorway. He gave the gunner a cocky grin and pushed himself to his pedes, stumbling as they recalibrated and adjusted to keep him upright.
“I’m capable of taking matters into my own hands.”
Bluestreak snickered, optics flicking to the still hanging shower head. “I can see that.”
“Shut it and ‘mere. I got my overload, I want snuggles.” Smokescreen grabbed a doorwing tip, dragging a laughing Bluestreak back into the berthroom.